Mismatched Button Eyes
by Sinister Tomato
Summary: She knitted a little stuffed dog with mismatched button eyes for the son she would never watch grow. :Inspired by the fact that Kakashi's mother is nonexistent.:


**Disclaimer**: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi.

**Spoilers**: Only for people who haven't read up to the Kakashi gaiden and the people who watch the dubs and follow U.S.A Shonen Jump.

**A/N**: Constructive criticism would be appreciated. One-shot on the birth of the scarecrow and how it affected his parents. Inspired by the fact that Kakashi's mother is completely ignored in the gaiden. Anyway, this is just speculation.

* * *

The man raced through the trees in a manic haste, white chakra flaring off his feet as he hurdled limb to limb. If he didn't hurry, he knew he would regret it. More than one life depended on it. 

As he leapt over the towering village gates, he hurled his identification card at the gaping guard, not bothering to check if it was caught. Before he smashed into the pavement in his nosedive, he transported to the hokage's office in midair with a quick poof. He dropped the scroll onto the Sandaime's desk, swiftly bowed at the frowning leader, and dashed out into the freezing night.

People hardly had time to turn their heads as a white blur sprinted past, leaving a long trail of dust behind it. Abruptly, it bore left and turned a corner, skidding to a halt in front of the hospital's electronic doors, leaving black smoking streak marks on the cement.

"Where is she?" he cried hoarsely, throat completely parched, as he hurried in.

A nurse calmly pointed a finger straight up without hesitation. "Take the stairs, keep going left until you see the emergency room, and wait there."

"Emergency room? Did something go wrong?"

"There were complications--"

"What kind of complications?"

"I don't know the details, but Tsunade-sama came almost immediately--"

"Can she fix whatever the complications are?"

"I don't know, but please lower your voice--"

He did not bother anymore with words, and instead rushed up the stairs in a panic, making a left and stopping in front of the double doors, panting with exhaustion and anxiety. He paced back and forth, refusing to sit on the plain gray chairs set along the white walls. He hated hospitals.

Minutes later, a blonde woman in high heels pushed back the doors, bearing a stern expression. Her eyes widened at the sight of the disheveled sweat-soaked shinobi before her.

"Is she alright?" he asked tentatively, afraid to hear the answer. _Please look me in the eye. Please look me in the eye._ Everyone knew if the great healer Princess Tsunade could not look at a person straight in the eyes when speaking to them, it was very bad.

Tsunade bit her lip for a split second and turned her eyes to the checkered floor. "No. There was too much damage to the internal organs. Her body couldn't bear the pressure. She died of blood loss."

Numb. He felt numb. There was no feeling in his body. He couldn't feel the ache in his throbbing legs, he forgot about the fractured rib in his chest, he disregarded the fact that his forehead protector was tied around his forearm to stop the bleeding on the semi-deep gash.

He could not even recall how to breathe.

"Hey, Sakumo."

Reality finally registered itself in his brain, and he found himself sitting on one of the chairs, slightly lightheaded from holding his breath, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. Suddenly, he remembered the reason he had come soaring home and lifted his head in alarm.

"Where's the baby?"

She put a hand on his shoulder in a vain effort to calm him. "Being cleaned."

"What is it?" He felt it was an inappropriate time to ask, but somehow, he knew his wife would find some way to slap him if he didn't.

"A boy. A healthy boy."

So it was a boy. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he felt compelled to blame the newborn for his wife's death. It was his fault that she had to die so painfully. If only the boy died in her place…He wouldn't be missed. After all, it was only another unknown child. Children were nuisances anyway. All they did was torture their parents, make them miserable.

The thing that nagged him most was; did he have gray hair?

-

"Sakumo," she asked as she patted her bulging abdomen, "what do you think it will be?"

He blinked at the bloated belly. "I bet it'll be a girl. Kicks hard, just like you."

"Shut up! I think it's going to be a boy."

"What, no reason?"

"No, not really. Call it mother's intuition. There doesn't have to be a logical reason for everything."

Teasingly, he inquired, "Why did you agree to marry me?"

"No idea. I think I was drawn to your hair. Gray since birth. Definitely intriguing." She grinned wickedly over her shoulder at him.

"That's the only reason? I'm hurt."

She snorted at the mock pained tone. "Some elite ninja you are. Of course it's a reason. Not logical, albeit, but it works."

"Nice to know I'm so loved," he muttered derisively. "So, what do you want the baby to be?"

"I don't care," she replied honestly. "I guess I just want to see if it turns out with gray hair like you. Old at birth. Even more interesting."

Her husband laughed at the image it took in his head, a wrinkled baby with crinkled gray hair and a tiny cane hobbling about grumpily in the crib. "You're a very mean mother. Already making fun of the kid! You deserve all that kicking!"

"Well, I'll have my revenge on it. After all, I could give it a weird name…Or pinch it's cheeks…" She trailed off, leaving the imagination to run wild.

"Never! I'll protect it!"

To that, she abandoned all mischief and smiled warmly. "You do that."

-

"Breathe, Sakumo."

Tsunade's voice snapped his out of his trip down memory lane, the last conversation he had with his wife before leaving that morning. He did as she commanded, breathing slowly in and out, pushing away the lightheaded haziness.

"Did she get a chance to hold him?"

"Yes. Do you want to hold him?"

He considered saying no, give the kid to someone else, let someone else take the mess, let another person mess him up.

Then he remembered the lovingly wide-eyed way his wife stared at the growing bulge with each passing month. He remembered the work she put into making the nursery as colorful as it could be. He remembered the little stuffed dog with mismatched button eyes she painstakingly knitted for the baby she wanted to have more than anything since their marriage.

"Can I?"

She led him away from the emergency room and back downstairs to the lobby. He waited for her return, leaning against the wall and blankly staring at his hands, wondering if he should wash them first. They were caked with blood and dirt.

He had no more time to think, because a soft bundle was suddenly pushed gently into his arms. Alarmed, he took it. It was a bundle of light blue blankets. A _breathing _bundle of light blue blankets. It would have been less alarming if he hadn't noticed the tuft of whitish gray hair peaking out beneath a fold.

Tsunade, knowing this would get nowhere if she didn't intervene, pushed the fold down with a finger and withdrew, giving the new broken family privacy.

The White Fang felt his resentment gradually ebb away as he peeked at his son's face.

Shiny cobalt eyes blinked up at his own. They were slightly squinted, still adjusting to the outside world. He was a pale baby, small and very soft. The man could feel the infant's warmth, it's fragility, as he held it. Wide-eyed and curious, he held a pinky finger (it was the only finger not decorated with blood) in front of the child's face. To his gleeful surprise, it stretched out two tiny palms with ten petite fingers and wrapped them around his pinky. They were so diminutive and chubby that he couldn't believe he was actually holding a teeny human in his arms. The baby cooed contentedly, refusing to let go of his father's finger. The man astounded himself when he felt rivulets of tears soaking into his mask.

I'm crying?

He shifted the baby boy onto one arm so he could pull down his mask. The tears ran freely down his face, damping the cloth around his neck. The baby cooed curiously at him, then let go of his pinky. He stretched his little arms up as far as he could, balling the miniscule fingers together into little pinkish fists. He opened his mouth wide and screwed together his eyelids, pushing out tears in the process as he yawned. Taking the fold, his father wiped away the tears carefully, softly, taking care to scarcely brush the skin. He noticed the fold was making crinkling sounds, and yanked out a folded scrap of paper. On it was scribbled kanji in smeared ink.

After several moments of blinking, Hatake Sakumo laughed, feeling, for the first time that night, truly happy.

"Hello, Kakashi. What a name, don't you agree? Blame your mom. How are you this evening? What's your impression of the world so far?"

The infant boy cooed in response.

"Yeah, it _is_ a little bright, isn't it? Don't worry, it'll get better when I take you home. So, I'm your dad. What do you think?"

He babbled and drooled.

"I wish that was your mother's first reaction to me. No, she just _had _to giggle at my hair. The first time she spoke to me, she asked, 'Did you dye it that color?' The nerve of the woman, don't you agree?"

The baby boy emitted a minute hiccup noise, as though attempting a little laugh.

"Have your mother's smart-mouth, I see. Can't wait until you actually talk a little less unintelligibly. Mind you, I don't speak baby."

Tsunade watched from the reception counter with an odd expression of mingled happiness and a sense of failure. It was not often that she lost patients, and each loss was no less painful than the one before it. Resignedly, she gave explicit orders to the staff to leave, but to keep the lights on. After making sure they complied, she stole one final glance at the pair and left as well, a sad smile on her lips, as she met up with a very silent Jiraiya at the entrance, who feigned unawareness.

In the morning, they found both father and son asleep on a lumpy couch. Neither knew where the little stuffed dog with mismatched button eyes the infant clutched tightly in his tiny fists had come from.

-

End.


End file.
